Thursday, February 14, 2013

I've always been anti-Valentine's Day. I would spout the "it's just a Hallmark holiday invented to make you buy flowers and chocolates and cards and you should show your love for somebody in little ways every day yada yada yada puke barf fart," crap. Which, you know, is absolutely true. Guys will do anything to get a guaranteed blowjob, so a holiday made specifically for that purpose is like a freaking gold mine for those sappy card-making bastards.

But what else is absolutely true is that you forget all that shit when someone rings your doorbell at 9 am with a vase filled with pretty flowers because your husband is cool and sweet and probably wants to get laid tonight.

Which he is. And he will (I can say that now because we're married).

Plus, it's a really good excuse to decorate your cardboard TARDIS with some pretty heart lights because you're festive. And too lazy to decorate in any real way because it's a holiday that doesn't really matter and then you'd have to take down the decorations 3 months from now, which is the approximate time it'll take you to stop playing Assassin's Creed or Skyrim long enough to do anything that might be called productive.

Enjoy those lights, TARDIS. You'll probably have them for a long time.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

I don't get why. I feed it all the fried food and beer it wants. I mean, who wouldn't love a person that feeds them jalapeno poppers and Samuel Adams all day every day?*

Apparently, my body. It's all like, "oh, I need proper nutrition," and "oh, you need to take a shower more than twice a week," and "waaahh! Why did you stay up so late last night watching that episode of Doctor Who where Rose gets left in another dimension and you always freaking cry? Because now I'm tired and hate you!"*

So I got a cold for the second time in a matter of two months because my body doesn't like jalapeno poppers, beer, and old episodes of Doctor Who. It's like it doesn't even know me. Which is ridiculous because, hello, it's my freaking body. Get with it, dude.

Pat just informed me that we're going to die of a heart attack. I'm pretty sure that's a challenge to see who's going to die first. Oh no you don't, motherfucker. Time to up my game!

*I don't actually do all of these things all of the time. But I am pretty bad at being an adult. So, you know, there's that.